


Companions React to a SoSu with Pre-War Scars

by tea_petty



Series: Collection of Companions' Reactions [23]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, M/M, Scars, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 15:56:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18210437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: No matter their origins, hurt and trauma linger all the same.  Time and good company are a helluva cure though.





	Companions React to a SoSu with Pre-War Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty
> 
> This work is not completed.

The dust settled around the splintered rafters and wood crisscrossed like a mouthful of crooked tiger’s teeth.  By now, Sole’s eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting in the Museum of Witchcraft; the dark shrouded corners seemed to hide infinite more terrors than what Sole and Preston could handle.  This contrasted strangely with the white light that filtered in through holes in the patchy roof.  Through these fragments of light, Sole could see particles floating weightlessly, only visible under the light as if they too were afraid to draw too closely to the dark.  Across the large room on the third floor of the museum (which was really two rooms opening up into one, after the Deathclaw had smashed through the skimpy divide like paper), Preston stood, marking the other end of the monster’s corpse, brutish even in death.  Sole crouched by its head, feeling a little vulnerable tucked behind the muffler and hood they had secured around their face, as they did before every mission.  All that was visible was Sole’s eyes; the only part they had to relinquish to their enemy, a parting gift for when they were struck down.  

This appearance of anonymity usually made them feel a little safer, but today, it made them feel isolated, alone.   Had Sole had been alone when the Deathclaw smashed through the eastern wall, they would be laying crumpled on the dingy floor instead.  The inky folds of fabric that encroached on Sole’s peripheral vision felt suffocating, and in the jolt of panic that suddenly shocked through their system, Sole’s hands reached up to tug frantically at the fabric looped around their neck.  Sole’s pulling escalated to clawing as they found themselves tangled in the web of fabric; a prisoner in shackles of their own making.  Their breath came out in short, furtive gasps while the creeping fabric threw the cloud of panicked breath back in their face.

“Sole, are you alright?”

Another strong hold took over Sole, and it took them a few moments to stop fighting it off when they realized the domineering grip was fighting with Sole, rather than the muffler.  The hood was already down by now, revealing Sole’s mussed hair, with the occasional sweat-slicked strand clinging to their forehead.  Preston’s firm but careful grip loosened the muffler as much as he could, before he looped it over Sole’s head, leaving them the most bare he’d ever seen them despite the months they’d traveled together.  Sole’s chest heaved as they drew great gulps of breath into their hysterical lungs.   Preston said nothing, trying to give them the space to recover from whatever unseen thing had seized their nerves right then.

“Y-yeah, I just…” Sole wheezed, struggling to catch their flitting breath.

He watched them quietly as he looked on Sole’s face for the first time; they seemed so much more real, much more human, now that they had bone structure – a jaw and chin, cheeks, and a nose.  The eyes may have been the windows to the soul, but windows without the rest of the building were fairly moot.  A fresh vermillion colored Sole’s face; a byproduct of the day’s exertion no doubt.  It took the Minuteman very little time to pick out the suspected reasoning for Sole’s rigorous disguising; small rivulets of scars cratered the expanse of their cheeks.  An especially deep furrow pulled the left corner of Sole’s mouth downwards into a perpetual frown.

When Preston felt Sole might look his way, he forced his gaze to drop; while many had assumed Sole’s stinginess with being seen was an act of intimidation or exclusion, Preston felt like the one person in the Commonwealth who had seen it for what it really was; an act of seclusion, of self-preservation.  Now despite trying to help Sole through their momentary crisis, he felt as if on a much larger scale, he’d trespassed into sacred, untouchable territory.

Preston hazarded a look Sole’s way, and no sooner had they felt his gaze on them, Sole scrambled for their muffler once again, bunching the fabric in their hands and sweeping it around themselves hurriedly.  The material shrouded the lower half of Sole’s face for a moment, before it slid downwards revealing their ravaged demeanor once again.  Not that it would have mattered anyhow, Preston had already seen everything.

The creeping red at Sole’s face had spread to whatever previously untouched areas existed.  Meanwhile, Sole’s expression toughened with indignance.  Their eyes glinted with a fierce refusal to be pitied, their forever grimace marred into a deep scowl.

Preston merely crouched to gather the fallen garment off the ground, shaking it slightly to rid it of the layer of dust that had taken to it.  Sole seemed to cringe away at the proximity; even in such low lighting, his adjusted eyes would be able to see each vicious mark as it blighted their face.  This realization stung them more than they’d anticipated; they had been attractive once.

If Preston noticed the gesture, he made no indication of it.  He simply held out the scarf in offering.  Sole studied his face, the pregnant silence making their palms sweat restlessly, and insides heavy with uncertainty.  Then with the caution of a mouse who managed to escape with the cheese from a trap unscathed, Sole snatched the scarf back, and secured it tightly around their face once again.  Preston then held a hand out in offering to Sole.  They looked at it skeptically, before their gaze returned to Preston’s face.

“I was sick.” Sole’s eyes seared into Preston, daring him to make a remark about their haggard appearance.

“Well, I’m glad you got better.”

Preston’s hand never rescinded, and after a few more moments of eyeballing it, Sole finally accepted it and let Preston pull them to their feet.  Sole brought their hands down against themselves, scattering the thin film of dust that formed on them.  Sole had figured that was the end of it; embarrassment mostly averted thanks to Preston’s tact.  However, as Sole spun on their heel, ready to head out once again, they reached upwards to tug their hood over their head, only to be stopped mid-reach by Preston’s voice.

“You know, this is the first time I’ve seen your face.”

Sole’s palms began to itch again, hot with embarrassment.  Sweat misted the inside of the muffler.  Sole said nothing.

“It feels good to know the face of our savior,” Preston continued, referring to their initial meeting at Concord, when Sole had swept in, a regular Robin Hood, and saved them from the raiders that had ambushed the small group of survivors.

Sole had faced off against a Deathclaw on that day as well.  Sole was frozen, and despite the shame that burned inside them, they felt venom choking its way up into their throat.

“It feels good to know the face of my savior,” his voice was low, and very, very close.

Sole didn’t dare look back, for fear that they and Preston would be once again, at a proximity in which he could stare into them; count the unflattering grooves in their face and follow the downward pull of their grimace.

“I would like to see it again.”

Preston passed by Sole as he uttered this to them, his voice warm honey in the dank museum.

Sole was still rooted.  Preston paused in front of the creaky stairs leading back to the main level a few feet ahead.

“Coming?” He asked casually, throwing an innocent enough look behind him.

“Yeah,” Sole said after a moment of hesitation, before jogging ahead to catch up to Preston.

They reached again for their muffler, this time, at a more relaxed pace.  Sole tugged it loose.


End file.
